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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195728">The Gifts of an Omega</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoic_swan/pseuds/stoic_swan'>stoic_swan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Courting Rituals, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal makes better choices, Implied Sexual Content, Is it fluff?, Mild Blood, Omega Verse, Omega Will Graham, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Will Graham, Romance, Scenting, Season 2 AU, Sexism, Sexual Tension, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Will Graham Needs a Hug, Will Graham wasn’t framed, will graham had encephalitis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:47:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,809</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoic_swan/pseuds/stoic_swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fresh off suppressants thanks to his encephalitis treatment, Will is fully experiencing the world as an omega for the first time— a task he’s wholly unprepared for after a lifetime of letting modern medicine dampen this aspect of his identity. Hannibal is more than intrigued by the turn of events and spends the holidays gauging Will's instincts.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(This story was prompted by the Hannigram A-B-O Library's #SeasonsSlick challenge.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>#SeasonsSlick</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Decorations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I got very sick and had to pause Gentler Means for a few weeks. Lo and behold, a Christmas challenge came out that called my name. I have never, ever written A/B/O before (and was claiming I never would as recently as about a week ago). Let me know if I commit an Omegaverse faux pas. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <b>Decorations</b> / Hunting / Stalking</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was, in a way, an experiment. </p><p>A three-foot spruce tree sat perched atop an end table draped with a gold brocade tablecloth. It was sparsely-- and rather poorly-- decorated by the inexpert hand of one of Dr. Lecter’s previous patients, Franklyn Froideveaux, an overeager omega whose medicinal camphor scent overpowered the slightest hint of citrus buried far underneath. Such an imbalanced natural scent was a symptom of long-endured anxiety, loneliness, and a questionable diet, but Hannibal was not a physician anymore, so he withheld these observations from the fragile man. Typically, the psychiatrist would have firmly declined Franklyn’s insistent offer to help decorate the miniature tree-- an unwanted gift from a longtime patient and fellow opera patron who needed a divorce from her boorish alpha husband more than she needed a therapist; however, before Hannibal opened his mouth to tell Franklyn to please sit down, a vague idea blossomed in the walled garden of Lecter’s mind.</p><p>As Hannibal watched Franklyn clumsily paw through the small box of ornaments that Mrs. Montago had brought alongside the tree, Hannibal envisioned his last visitor of the evening, Will Graham, wandering the room as he always did, rubbing the side of his neck idly and unconsciously scent marking each item he touched-- almost every item, it seemed-- until the room radiated the younger man’s scent. He was the only of Hannibal’s guests to do this, and he completed his subconscious task without fail every week at some point during their session. Sometimes, he circled the room before he settled in, spreading wisps of cedar and dry vanilla over books and chairs. Other times, he’d rise mid-conversation and work a haphazard route around the room, running capable fingers over drapes as he peered out the windows or even tracing unidentifiable shapes across the wood of Hannibal’s desk as he audaciously sat himself behind it. Rarely, though more often as of late, he’d collapse onto the chaise lounge and let each note that comprised his lovely omegan scent seep into the very fabric-- cedar, dry vanilla, sea salt, and a breeze of ozone. </p><p>Hannibal pictured this and wondered with fascination what Will would do when confronted with an intrusive, competing scent and no way to rid the room of it outside of directly handling a rather conspicuous item linked to thoughts of home, ritual, family, and belonging. </p><p>At 7:30 sharp, Hannibal was all too glad to open the office door to the patients’ waiting area and find Will Graham skulking in the darkened room. </p><p>“Good evening, Will.”</p><p>“Dr. Lecter,” Will responded, their customary exchange.</p><p>The doctor took a minute step backward as he held the door open for Will but used the proximity to take a discreet, measured inhale of the other man’s scent. Hannibal’s nose was particularly expert at identifying trace scents, even for an alpha, and he would often inconspicuously scent his incoming patients in order to quickly gauge their present state. Still, he had taken special pleasure in the evolution of Will’s scent across the weeks. During their first meeting in Jack Crawford’s office, the competing notes of chemical aftershave and illness couldn’t quite eclipse the true scent hidden under the choking layers; it was no wonder many assumed Will was a beta in spite of the fact he had made no attempt to actively conceal his status as an omega. Over their next several meetings, the overripe sweetness of the encephalitis grew until it jeopardized Hannibal’s larger plans, forcing him to refer Will to a neurologist; Hannibal admitted only to himself some hint of relief when the sickly scent receded, then vanished. The aftershave was also dropped somewhere along the way, perhaps when Will was undoubtedly taken off suppressants during his encephalitis treatment; Graham’s own sense of smell would have sharpened without the suppressants, and he might have found the aftershave at least somewhat as offensive as Hannibal himself did. Regardless of the myriad reasons for the shifts in his scent, being permitted to breathe in <i>Will</i> uncloaked and to learn the variations of his scent in relation to his moods was worth the weeks of inhaling cheap cologne and disease.</p><p>Hannibal closed the office door behind them and settled into the chair across from Will’s as the dark-haired man scanned the office. His face was fixed in a scowl-- a familiar expression, to be fair-- as he looked over the room. Hannibal set his features in amiable neutrality as Will began a purposeful circle around the office, dragging his fingers across surfaces but breathing more deeply than usual. The doctor was almost certain Will had no idea as to what he was doing and would be horrified if he did; the younger man had simply been one of millions who presented, went immediately on suppressants, and never had the thrill of experiencing the world through a heightened lens. He would previously have had no real concept of exactly how identifiable his scent as an unblocked, unsuppressed omega would be.</p><p>“Jack tells me you have quite a killer on your hands. A rather spectacular display found in a silo,” Hannibal described conversationally. . </p><p>“It’s a color palette,” Will distractedly replied, fixing his eyes on the spruce. Curiosity and annoyance both coloring his voice, he turned his head to ask, “Why do you have a Christmas tree?”</p><p>Hannibal let the corners of his lips raise just enough to be pleasant.</p><p>“A gift,” he answered simply.</p><p>Will approached the tree and studied it with a frown, nostrils flaring slightly. Hannibal looked generally in Will’s direction but tried not to watch him closely as he detected Franklyn’s scent.</p><p>“You’re keeping it?” Will asked disdainfully, reaching his fingers out to touch a shiny green glass orb. </p><p>Hannibal looked directly at Will then and tilted his head questioningly, still keeping his features relaxed. </p><p>“It would be discourteous to reject a gift from a friend,” he responded.</p><p>An audible <i>hmph</i> came from the back of Will’s throat as he raised his eyebrows and muttered, “Seems <i>discourteous</i> to give someone a present they have to display.”</p><p>Hannibal exhaled a dry chuckle and replied, “I don’t disagree. Gifts are often for the benefit of both the giver and the recipient.” </p><p>Will hummed affirmatively as he continued running his fingertips over the tree, frown still in place. </p><p>“Gifts are dangerous,” he said in a low voice. “Expectations. Reciprocation.”</p><p>Hannibal’s eyes left Will’s form and looked toward the fire, interested to see what the man would do if permitted the perception of space. </p><p>As if thinking deeply, Hannibal answered, “Gifts also have the power to solidify bonds. I accept a gift understanding that I am now indebted; I display the gift to pay that debt. Mrs. Montago feels she has left a positive mark on my life in some insignificant way, and I acknowledge that I have pleased her.”</p><p>The seated doctor did not allow his eyes to flash in pleasure as he saw the glint of an ornament being plucked from the tiny tree. </p><p>“Would <i>Mrs. Montago</i> be pleased to know her gift will end its life in a landfill?” Will sardonically questioned. </p><p>“Likely not,” Hannibal replied with a small smile. “We could burn it-- feed the winter fires. Warm ourselves with reciprocity.”</p><p>Will’s head snapped toward Hannibal, who turned leisurely in his chair. He looked down at the ornament in his hand and then back up at the doctor, confusion pulling his brows together as Hannibal remained impassive.</p><p>“I shouldn’t insult your tree. Or, apparently, remove the ornaments,” Will said as he held up the green ball with one hand, then ran his other hand through his hair self-consciously. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”</p><p>“Holidays are fraught with memories and tensions. Feelings we are certain have sunk to the depths of our consciousness are dragged to the surface by the currents of ritual,” Hannibal easily explained. “Even symbols become offensive.”</p><p>“I don’t find Christmas trees offensive,” Will remarked sharply. With a sigh and a grimace he conceded, “Except this one.” </p><p>“Something in the arrangement of the decorations, perhaps?” Hannibal innocently offered. “An earlier patient found toying with them therapeutic, but it’s not quite the aesthetic I would have chosen.”</p><p>Will gave a small grin as he spoke. “I could tell you didn’t do this-- no antlers, no feathers…” </p><p>He reached for another ornament and removed it from the tree. </p><p>Will removing all traces of another’s scent and design from Hannibal’s space was a sight that made warmth spread from his core outward even as his mind dissected the image. It was a feeling he had started to grow accustomed to where Will Graham was concerned-- dual curiosity and affection. He should have crushed it from the first. Now, disposing of Will should matters take a disastrous turn would require leashing a primal part of himself that usually enjoyed unfettered freedom where killing was concerned.</p><p>As Will continued removing decorations and, simultaneously, spreading his scent across the small spruce, Hannibal returned to their conversation about the new case.</p><p>“What does your killer seek to create through this palette?”</p><p>Will’s hands didn’t pause as he launched into his theory of the muralist. By the time their session ended, the tree was barren, Will had made at least two more full circles around the office, and the air hung heavy with the scent of only one omega. Throughout the session, Hannibal had remained placidly in his chair, looking comfortable and attentive. When he rose to walk Will to the door and felt looseness in his shoulders and neck as he walked behind the younger man, he realized that part of his comfort was decidedly attributable to the soothing pheromones involuntarily released by a calmed omega in the presence of an alpha. The only clue-- other than Hannibal’s own physiological response-- was a sweetening of the vanilla in Will’s scent. </p><p>The doctor stored the information away in his mind and reached around to open the door for Will.</p><p>“I’ll let you know about the muralist-- if I’m right,” Will said to the ground.</p><p>“When you’re correct, I look forward to hearing of his arrest,” Hannibal replied. Before Will could escape, the older man added, “Should I expect you at my Christmas party or only a bottle of your wine?”</p><p>Will looked surprised for just a moment at Hannibal’s question, then gave a self-deprecating chuckle. He didn’t speak for a moment, but Hannibal was satisfied to note the scent lingering in the air didn’t change even as the doctor watched him intently.</p><p>“I’ll try.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Scenting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Second entry for the Hannigram A-B-O Library Seasons Slick challenge:</p><p><b>Scenting</b> / Candles / Wax Play</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Am I doing Omegaverse right-ish? Right enough that it's not distractingly bad? Aggghhhh. A/B/O and AU writers, you have all of my respect. </p><p>But hey, I'm having fun playing with tropes (both using them and discarding them)!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will’s eyes opened to behold the two bodies lit by the moonlight streaming into the Perrin family’s attic. Dark lines and spots of dried blood marred the pale flesh, but they were mere specks in comparison to the pools of congealed inky blackness settled under the bodies, a result of their decapitation.</p><p><i>Merry Christmas,</i> Will thought darkly as he oriented himself in the space again. He was still resurfacing from the killer’s mind and had not fully shaken all that this murderer had felt when he killed Denise and Blake Perrin in their own home. Will knew Jack would be chomping at the bit to enter the room-- likely lingering just below the ladder-- and it made him breathe uneasily in the dark space to feel so crowded. He was caged between the bodies of the Perrins and the loamy scent of an impatient, mated alpha. </p><p>Fucking encephalitis.</p><p>Will took the few steps to the open square in the attic floor and looked down at the small crowd of grave faces. He averted his eyes as he climbed, keeping his balance steady. The odor that had formed at the foot of the ladder was a sickening menagerie of keyed-up alpha agents of varying ages and mating statuses. <i>This</i> sort of thing was why omegas chose to start suppressants at the first hint of a teenaged preheat and never missed a dose unless they chose to bond. However, as was typical in the life of Will Graham, his brain tried to boil itself in his skull, and now he was experiencing the full stench of the world for the first time in his over three decades of life. </p><p>He ran a hand over his face and swallowed the gag he felt rising in his chest at the locker room musk collected in the room. </p><p>“The decapitation was post-mortem,” Will began, his voice strong in spite of his rising nausea. “This killer doesn’t want his victims to suffer; he wants to take away what they have. The killing is dehumanizing. That’s punishment enough.”</p><p>“Punishment for what?” Jack asked, crossing his arms doubtfully.</p><p>“For having what he doesn’t,” Will answered. He paused and exhaled a sigh as he concluded, “The bodies don’t have wedding rings. You won’t find those rings in this house, Jack.”</p><p>From behind him, Will heard a familiar voice comment, “This feels more like a February murder than a December one.”</p><p>Jimmy Price wandered forward with Brian Zeller in tow. The faint, clean scent of the two betas was a welcome breeze cutting through the stagnant sea of alpha adrenaline. </p><p>“If the heads really did come off <i>after</i> he killed them, it isn’t a crime of passion,” Zeller remarked back. </p><p>“Good point,” Jimmy said with a nod as his eyes traveled up the ladder toward the dark attic. “We never get a perp as easy as a jealous ex.”</p><p>Will didn’t look at the men directly as he spoke. “I doubt he knew the Perrins.” </p><p>“So his next victims will also be randomly selected?” Jack’s baritone voice questioned. </p><p>At Jack’s dissatisfied tone, Will added snarkily, “They’ll probably also be a married couple-- successful, a nice house, maybe a white picket fence.”</p><p>“But he will kill again,” Jack said. </p><p>Will only nodded his reply. A moment of tense silence passed, and Will inwardly cringed as he perceived the gathered agents’ scent peak again in the uncomfortable quiet. Worse, he detected one of the men only a few feet from him lean nearer and his scent shift. With a flash of anger, Will recognized the emerging scent as an attempt to <i>comfort</i>, which meant something in Will’s own pheromones suggested anxiety. The notion that some strange, twenty-five-year-old alpha would attempt to chemically console Will at a crime scene made his teeth grind. A headache was beginning to form behind Will’s eyes when Beverly cut easily through the crowd of men and planted herself before her team. </p><p>“Was there a Christmas miracle?” she asked Zeller and Price with no hint of a smile.</p><p>The men glanced at one another.</p><p>“No?” Jimmy offered after a few seconds studying her face.</p><p>“I assumed the reason we were all standing here is because the crime scene processed itself,” Beverly returned in a tone that left enough doubt as to whether she was annoyed or joking. </p><p>“Point taken,” Price replied and finally began climbing the ladder to the attic. </p><p>The gaggle of hungry agents dispersed at Price and Zeller’s sudden return to business, only a few of them actually assigned to enter the attic, and resumed their work now that Will had completed his duty as resident bloodhound. Jack walked past Will and Beverly without a word, though Will heard him bark at one of the agents a few seconds later about his carelessness dusting for fingerprints. </p><p>Given the room and privacy to breathe, Will turned to Beverly.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said reluctantly.</p><p>“Didn’t seem like we were making any progress down here,” Beverly answered with a shrug. “You’re looking a little sick, Graham.”</p><p>Will gave a wry grin. “A side effect of my encephalitis treatment: Alphas smell awful.”</p><p>Beverly narrowed her eyes at him without malice, “I’ll assume present company is excluded.”</p><p>He finally met her gaze and shook his head, giving a real smile. Beverly was one of the few alphas he’d met who seemed to have an appealing scent-- pine and mint-- and based on how muted it was, he guessed she had the decency to wear scent-dulling deodorant while at work. </p><p>“Just promise you’ll tell me if I start smelling like a frat house and we’ll call it even, okay?” she offered.</p><p>“Gladly,” Will replied. He released the breath he’d been holding and decided to ask Beverly the question on his mind before he had a chance to decide against it. He dropped his voice further as he asked, “Beverly, can you <i>smell</i> when I’m stressed?”</p><p>She blinked at him a few times, taken aback. The FBI wasn’t just an alpha-dominated field-- it was an alpha-dominated field where having an edge in strength and heightened senses was advantageous in almost any role. Few FBI alphas took suppressants, and Will guessed Beverly was wholly unaccustomed to dealing with the type of problems Will now faced. He had functionally lived as a beta, more or less, for years thanks to the wonders of modern medicine. </p><p>She bit back a sympathetic expression. “Yes, Will. We work for the FBI-- we’re all stressed, all the time. Don’t worry.”</p><p>Will wanted to believe her, but the idea that someone could sense what he was feeling by smell alone made him want to lock himself away in his home until he was cleared to resume his medication. Beverly gave him a pat on the shoulder as she made her way to the ladder, the sounds of Price and Zeller bickering over what tool was used to decapitate the Perrins drifting downward. </p><p>It was four o’clock in the morning, pitch-black in the winter darkness, when Will was released and weaved through the dozens of agents and evidence markers to exit the home. When he finally made it to his car, Will collapsed into the driver’s seat. It was unnerving to smell his own scent so strongly in confined spaces; before tonight, he had hoped it wasn’t as noticeable to others, though he now had doubts. He was in a suburb of Baltimore, over an hour from Wolf Trap, and he ached with exhaustion. As he made his way out of the maze of the Perrins’ neighborhood onto a main road, his heavy eyes convinced him to pull off into a gas station to get a cup of coffee for the trip back. The gas station he chose was depressing at that hour, all fluorescent lights and cheap Christmas decorations, but the coffee smelled industrial-strength and the cashier was bored enough to not attempt small talk. </p><p>He had almost completed his task without incident when Will sensed a man in a baseball cap who looked just beyond middle age watching as he walked from the gas pumps toward the entrance. Will tensed when the man redirected his route and took a few steps toward him instead; in the small area of the gas station, a few steps covered too much ground for comfort. Will wondered if the man was going to ask for money or maybe directly attempt to mug him. He didn’t necessarily look like the mugging type-- he had pulled up to the gas pumps in a decent SUV, after all-- but there was something predatory in his gait. </p><p>Thus, half-expecting to be robbed, when Will heard a wolf whistle break through the night, he glanced around, confirmed he was the only other person within sight, and looked back at the man in the baseball cap in disbelief.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Will asked, turning fully toward the man and squaring his shoulders.</p><p>The man rolled his eyes and scoffed in aggravation. </p><p>“It’s a compliment. You like it,” he said patronizingly. “Calm down.”</p><p>Everyone had heard of-- or experienced-- situations involving catcalling, street harassment, and worse. A certain type of alpha held the belief that any omega not on suppressants was one sniff away from heat and desperate for anything with two legs and a knot. It was revolting, and Will had to ground himself in the moment to prevent his vision from going black in rage.</p><p>“Sound awfully sure of yourself,” Will managed to say in an even voice around his set jaw, though there was no mistaking his disgust. “Come over here and <i>compliment</i> me.”</p><p>The other man, to his credit, faltered. He identified the threat in Will’s tone, but being challenged by an omega in such a way dug at his apparent surplus of brute instinct. Will waited, body visibly tense, to see if the man would take his bait. The man took two more uneasy steps forward, then found his confidence as Will remained statue-still. He approached Will until they were almost chest-to-chest, and Will resisted the urge to move away from the man’s unpleasant, nearly rancid scent. The man’s hand raised and moved as if to touch Will’s hair as his grating voice broke the silence between them again.</p><p>“Can hardly find a decent omega.”</p><p>Before the fingers could graze his curls, Will moved rapidly, fist thrusting upward and cracking the man’s nose with a satisfying crunch. When the man’s hands flew to his face, Will struck again, knocking the air from the man as the sensitive flesh of his stomach was pounded relentlessly. The man curled forward, and in such a state, it took very little for Will to drop him to the ground with a few precisely-aimed strikes to his left kidney. The man hit the pavement on his hands and knees and looked back up at Will wide-eyed. Red tinged his gaze, but the air smelled metallic with fear. </p><p>“Going to tell everyone an omega did that?” Will asked, running his gaze up and down the man’s damaged body. </p><p>The man shook his head but otherwise made no movement. </p><p>Will took a few steps backward, eyes on the man, until he was near his car. Once he was within only a few feet of the driver’s side door, he half-turned, got in the vehicle, and backed out onto the empty main road, speeding away before the man changed his mind and decided to try to get Will’s plates. Unsettled, exhilarated, and bleeding from his knuckles, Will headed to Baltimore.</p><p>It wasn’t yet dawn when Will rang Hannibal’s doorbell, but he couldn’t quite muster any guilt when Hannibal looked so unbearably unsurprised to find Will on his doorstep at an ungodly hour. Only the harshness in Hannibal’s eyes hinted at anything resembling worry. </p><p>“Will,” he greeted blankly. </p><p>“Hey,” Will answered, shrugging his shoulders in the cold. “Can I come in?”</p><p>Hannibal looked him up and down, brow setting in curiosity. </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>The doctor stepped aside but followed Will with his eyes. He held his mouth open slightly as he tried to piece together the situation. </p><p>“What happened this evening?” Hannibal asked, still standing in the doorway as he watched Will walk further into the foyer. </p><p>Will shifted his weight. He could tell from Hannibal’s searching expression that he could perceive more than what was visible; that the person who knew Will best was an alpha was only one more great irony of the universe. Will pulled his bloodied hand from his pocket and held it up. The doctor nodded and went into motion, moving past Will and leading him toward the kitchen. </p><p>“Take a seat. Those will need to be cleaned.”</p><p>Will nodded, feeling chastised, and took a seat at the island while Hannibal retrieved his first-aid bag and filled a bowl with warm water. They didn’t speak again until Will’s hand was almost completely bandaged. </p><p>“Do you plan on telling me why you’re at my door seeking medical care before daylight?” Hannibal finally questioned, more probing than bothered.</p><p>A heavy sigh escaped Will’s chest as he leaned forward, putting his head down on the bent elbow of his free arm. </p><p>“Murderers keep odd hours,” Will began, “and so do gas stations.”</p><p>Hannibal didn’t speak, waiting for the younger man. </p><p>“Stopped to get coffee on the way home from a crime scene. A guy whistled at me.”</p><p>Will closed his eyes, his earlier weariness returning with a vengeance as the rush of the fight faded fully. He didn’t open them again until Hannibal’s work ceased. When he did, he found the doctor watching him with eyes crinkled in amusement. Will raised his brow in a silent question.</p><p>“Is it your intention to publicly assault each ill-bred alpha you encounter?”</p><p>Will half-raised his head and opened his mouth, clearly preparing to defend his actions. </p><p>“Before you answer,” Hannibal cut him off, “know that I do not disapprove. I only question Jack Crawford’s impression of this strategy.”</p><p>With a slump of his shoulders, Will’s head fell back to his curled arm. </p><p>“I know,” Will conceded. “I haven’t figured <i>this</i> out yet.” </p><p>A trace of the amusement in Hannibal’s expression melted away at that, his brow drawing into a slightly harder line. </p><p>“A period of adjustment is to be expected. You’ve spent your adult life blindfolding your senses."</p><p>Will gave a dismissive hum. “Spoken like a true alpha.”</p><p>Hannibal’s small smile returned at that. </p><p>“Do you resent being an omega, Will?”</p><p>Somehow, Will looked more exhausted upon hearing the question. </p><p>“Psychoanalysis before breakfast is a circle of hell,” he replied. </p><p>“I believe that canto is still considered apocryphal,” Hannibal commented gamely, “but it's not entirely disproven.”</p><p>While Will had only been half-serious in his hint, he didn’t object when Hannibal circled the island and seamlessly began breakfast preparations. Once the kitchen was filled with the sound of sizzling meat, Will lifted his head and held it in his hands, watching Hannibal work. </p><p>“I don’t have a problem with being an omega. I have a problem with people who make assumptions about what that means.”</p><p>Only an omega. Only an empath. Only the new kid. So many neat boxes that made Will Graham seem safe and, above all else, normal. He chafed at the labels he had never chosen for himself.</p><p>“What do you believe being an omega entails in the eyes of others?” Hannibal asked, flipping a sausage. Will’s stomach rumbled in response.</p><p>“You know the stereotypes-- sweet, pretty, submissive. We spend our days building nests and batting our eyelashes.”</p><p>Hannibal didn’t speak until the links in the pan reached a rich, rusty brown. He moved the meat to another burner and started on the eggs. </p><p>“A pity such myths persist,” he commented mysteriously. </p><p>“Myths? Nesting is real,” Will challenged. </p><p>Hannibal spoke matter-of-factly in reply, “Yes, and I'd see any who question the ferocity omegas are inherently capable of attempt to enter a nest uninvited.”</p><p>Not wanting to give Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing he had drawn Will’s interest, the younger man casually leaned to rest his chin on one hand while the other traced invisible figure-eights on the island. </p><p>“Omegas aren’t known for our capacity for violence, <i>Doctor Lecter.</i>”</p><p>“The man you met this morning might disagree,” Hannibal commented, sounding pleased to Will’s ears. His next words, though, took a much more clinical tone, “Omegas are every ounce as defensive and territorial as alphas. Physiologically, their refined immune systems and tendency to retain lean muscle into advanced age easily distinguish them from any beta peer. Sight, hearing, and smell are on par with alphas-- better at times. Add in childbearing, and there’s a strong case to be made that omegas are the height of human evolution.”</p><p>Will watched Hannibal closely, looking for signs of facetiousness or deception. Nothing in the man’s demeanor suggested it. His words, though, were so precisely what Will had longed to hear when he was a teenager helping his father-- alpha through and through-- on the docks. Though he was an adult now and knew his identity lay far beyond his sex, shaking a decades-long discomfort that had been neatly tucked away until recently was easier said than done. When Hannibal reached over to place a plate in front of Will, the younger man breathed deeply, tasting the air that flowed past his palate. Sampling the man’s scent confirmed to Will that Hannibal's words-- or at least the feelings motivating them-- were genuine; it also gave Will the discomforting knowledge that Hannibal’s scent was, beyond all doubt, the single most wonderful thing Will had smelled in his entire life. The thought caused Will to close his eyes and drag a hand over his face, giving him a reprieve as Hannibal leaned back across the island. Having caught the scent, however, Will could not stop himself from taking long, slow breaths that filled his chest fully.</p><p>“Coffee?” </p><p>Hannibal held a mug up, politely pretending obliviousness.</p><p>“Yeah,” Will weakly agreed and took a bite before he could make the situation worse. He accepted the mug with a mumbled, “Thanks.”</p><p>“I wasn’t certain if this morning had soured coffee for you permanently,” Hannibal commented off-handedly before raising his fork to his mouth. 

</p><p>Will relaxed a bit at the words and focused in earnest on eating. When their plates were mostly empty, he glanced surreptitiously at Hannibal, observing the man's untroubled countenance and fluid movements. Will returned his eyes to his own plate when he spoke.</p><p>“I’m not sure how to avoid a situation like this morning from occurring again.”</p><p>Will heard the clink of Hannibal’s silverware pause. A few seconds later, the steadying scent of the other man shifted from a wash of spices, sandalwood, and golden amber to something resinous and burning. It dissipated as quickly as it appeared, but for those few seconds, Will <i>knew</i> that Hannibal-- the man of inviolable serenity-- had felt a flash of anger. Will’s reaction was immediate and confounding: A stab of guilt at having dumped his problems on his friend’s shoulders competing with a horrifying, fluttering satisfaction.</p><p>“Prevention is the best medicine,” Hannibal suggested. “Unmated omegas sometimes purchase synthetic alpha chemicals or even borrow articles of clothing from familiar alphas to deter unwanted attention.”</p><p>Will groaned in response.</p><p>“You understand how insulting that is, don’t you?”</p><p>Hannibal tilted his head in acknowledgement. </p><p>Will crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll pass.” </p><p>Hannibal cocked his head as he looked at Will contemplatively. It was a gesture that made Will unreasonably nervous. </p><p>“What if such items were gifted to you?”</p><p>A sound between a choke and a laugh caught in Will’s throat, and his eyes traveled around the room, avoiding Hannibal’s unshaken gaze. </p><p>“Santa delivers alpha pheromones now? Or is it the worn clothing he shoves down the chimney?” Will bit off sarcastically, working his jaw when his mouth closed again. </p><p>“Christmas is too near to find the ideal pheromone blend. The process seems to be trial and error, I’m afraid, even with genetic testing.”</p><p>Will wasn’t sure if Hannibal was trying to goad him into making eye contact, but it was damn near working. There wasn’t any circumstance under which Will Graham would undergo genetic testing to let a laboratory produce synthetic alpha pheromones just so assholes in parking lots would leave him alone. </p><p>“But we could certainly identify a preferential alpha to scent mark articles of clothing before the week’s end,” Hannibal offered casually as an alternative. </p><p>Will glared at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, gaze still ostensibly averted. </p><p>“How does that conversation go? ‘Nice to meet you; please rub my gloves on your neck.’”</p><p>The ire in Will’s voice earned him a low chuckle from across the island. </p><p>“My gift to you, Will, would be to smooth the transactional aspect of the process.”</p><p>Blue eyes finally turned to scrutinize the man standing before them. </p><p>“I don’t want a gift.”</p><p>“Yet that does not diminish my desire to give you one.”</p><p>The two stared at one another, not entirely arguing but not altogether teasing either. </p><p>Will brought his hands down on the island with a clap and said exasperatedly, “You smell fine.”</p><p>Hannibal stilled.</p><p>“Fine?” he eventually asked. </p><p>Will managed to neither groan nor roll his eyes at the perceived slight. He schooled his features before he replied flatly, “Yeah. You’d do.”</p><p>Hannibal’s eyes never left Will’s as he reached across the island and collected the other man’s dishes. When he was at the nearest point to Will’s body, his scent once again flooding Will’s senses, Hannibal gave his final comment on the matter: “I’ll strive to remain perfectly acceptable, Will.”</p><p>By the time the older man leaned back into his original spot, dirty dishes in hand, both were poorly concealing their amusement and the air in the kitchen had seemed to thicken around them. Hannibal walking toward the sink was a welcome break from what could best be described as flirtation. As he ran the water over the dishes, Hannibal said over his shoulder, “You need sleep, Will.”</p><p>Will couldn’t argue with that. He stood and stretched, pathetically attempting to appear more lively. </p><p>“If I leave now, I’ll beat the traffic.”</p><p>“You’re welcome to nap in a guest room if you’re concerned about the drive.”</p><p>Considering the unexpected lightness of the morning and the heaviness still lingering in the air, Will turned the words around in his mind a few times before deciding it truly was only a friendly offer. He was mostly relieved at that conclusion.</p><p>“Seven dogs,” Will said in explanation.<br/>
Hannibal gave a single nod. </p><p>“Suit yourself.”</p><p>At the door a few minutes later, the cold wind rushed their goodbyes; a ridiculous twinge of loss contracted in Will’s chest as the scent of Hannibal’s house was replaced by fresh air. On the drive home, Will caught whiffs of Hannibal’s scent as the heat circulated air across the surface of his clothing, and he found he felt nearly as relaxed and warm in the vehicle as he had in the kitchen. Will should have been embarrassed by how thoroughly their mingled scents in the confined space impacted him, but soothed and without witnesses, it was difficult to care. His mind wandered as he drew nearer to his home: What would the gift be? Assuming it was clothing, would he be able to wear it without dying of shame? How long would the lovely scent last on an item thoroughly marked? Would Will’s skin absorb some of the scent? What must proper scenting be like, grazing a mate’s neck and wrists…</p><p>Will stopped himself, recognizing entirely too much skin had entered his thinking. He was tired and overwhelmed and did not need to further contribute to his own problems-- for once.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Christmas Stockings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt for 21 December: <b>Christmas Stockings</b> / Lingerie / Chastity</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Love to hear your thoughts on the story so far! I promise there will eventually be more than sniffing 😆😆</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Package for Will Graham.”</p>
<p>Will stared through bleary eyes at the courier on the other side of his storm door. Finals were over, and it was the first morning of a holiday break he had dearly earned after the hellish fall term. Yet, a baby-faced courier was knocking on his front door at 7:30, rousing the dogs and Will alike. The courier all but squirmed under what Will guessed was a look that transcended mere displeasure. </p>
<p>“Are you Mr. Graham, sir?” the boy asked cautiously. </p>
<p>Will resigned himself to the fact that the young man was not a bad dream and would thus not be leaving Will alone so easily. </p>
<p>He dragged a hand over his face and sighed. “Need a signature?” </p>
<p>“If you don’t mind…,” the courier trailed off, looking at the package in his hands as though he were reconsidering all of his life choices.</p>
<p>With a creak that nearly caused the young man to jump out of his skin, the storm door opened enough for Will to lean halfway out. A handheld tablet with a stylus clipped into a holder emerged from the courier’s pocket, Will scribbled a signature, and the box exchanged hands. The boy was halfway off the porch as he called out, “Thank you, sir! Happy holidays!”</p>
<p>Will answered with a half-hearted, “You, too,” as he looked over the package. It was wrapped in plain brown paper with a white ribbon criss-crossed around it and tied into a bow on top. The tag dangling from the bow with Will’s name and address written in ornate script was as good as a return address. A groan that originated somewhere in the depths of Will’s soul escaped his lips as he reentered the house and kicked the front door closed behind him. Apparently, twenty-five hours was all Hannibal needed to produce a <i>gift</i> Will had neither asked for nor wanted. Will dropped the package a tad too heavily onto his kitchen table, then walked away from it shaking his head.</p>
<p>He whistled, and the sound of twenty-eight paws scrambling across the floor echoed from the bedroom to the entrance. Will pulled a coat on over the t-shirt and boxers he slept in and let the gang of dogs rush by him. He followed them a few yards into the grass, the cold registering as his sleepiness-- and irritation-- ebbed. Still, he took too much delight in observing their puppyish play to retreat. Max and Harley tore off together in a version of tag while Buster tried to keep up, barking his complaint that the larger dogs were leaving him behind. Winston circled the house once, his usual morning habit, while Jack rolled in the grass with abandon. Zoe, the most averse to cooler temperatures, stuck close to Will, eager to follow him into the house at her first opportunity. A full smile broke across Will’s features as Buster’s run turned into a trot, the little dog too out of breath from barking to maintain his pace. </p>
<p>For fifteen minutes, Will ignored the cold and all realities outside of his sliver of green earth in Wolf Trap, Virginia. When he eventually corralled the dogs back into the house and watched them make a beeline for the fireplace, he almost felt content. It was too bad there was a package still awaiting his attention. </p>
<p>He needed coffee for this. If Will avoided looking at the package while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, that was entirely his business and nobody else’s.</p>
<p>Out of excuses, Will roughly grasped the package by the ribbon and took it into the living room along with his steaming mug. Not wanting to give the moment more importance than he already had, Will untied the ribbon and tore into the plain wrapping paper. Underneath the layer of paper was a simple-- if somewhat foreboding-- black box. The top popped off easily, finally showing Will precisely what he’d signed for that morning. He pulled out the item contained within and held it up, eyes narrowing.</p>
<p>As the morning light glinted off the velvet of the stocking, Will exhaled a noise that landed squarely between a growl and a laugh. When the fabric shifted in his hands and the faintest plaid pattern was revealed in what otherwise seemed to be solid red, he dropped the stocking back into the box and pushed it away with a socked foot. Glaring at the offensive item peeking out over the edge of the black box, Will gulped down a third of his coffee and wondered if it was safe to burn velvet. The fabric had to be synthetic, he supposed, and he didn’t want his dogs to inhale dangerous fumes. Of course, if there was some rare creature that magically produced red plaid fur, Hannibal would be the man to find it and turn it into decor. Alternatively, Will could just put it directly in the trash can, not even bothering to see what was stuffed inside, or he could take it to the post office and send it right back to Baltimore. Hell, he could drive there himself and put the box directly in the good doctor’s hands-- maybe he’d even make him sign for it.</p>
<p>Yes, he would get rid of it all.</p>
<p>And the next time a strange alpha got too close, he would just walk away instead of risking everything-- his job, his home, his dogs-- for the satisfaction of a punch.</p>
<p>That was exactly what he would do. </p>
<p>For a whole year.</p>
<p>Will downed the rest of the coffee, then stood and brought the box back to his chair. As reprehensible as the idea was that <i>he</i> had to be responsible for preventing becoming the target of others’ inappropriate behavior, he also couldn’t picture himself going an entire year without snapping again. Will cursed under his breath as he gripped the stocking by the toe and turned it upside down, sending the smaller packages wrapped in gauzy white paper inside tumbling out. Will picked one at random and ripped the paper loose gracelessly, letting it fall to the floor.</p>
<p>Inside the paper had been a sealed plastic bag that contained what appeared to be a rolled-up plain white t-shirt, much like his own, and a single silica packet. Unfortunately for Will’s nose, his brain was operating a few seconds behind his hands that morning, and he pulled the plastic apart just before he realized why Lecter had taken such care to seal the bag. The moment the package was torn, Hannibal’s concentrated scent radiated outward from the fabric, overwhelming Will’s senses and drawing a dazed, “Oh,” from his lips.</p>
<p>Will dimly thought he should pull away or put the package down-- anything to distance himself from it. He wasn’t the most sociable of people, but even he knew huffing your friend’s scent was frowned upon. However, in the privacy of his living room with what was essentially a well of distilled pheromones, Will gave himself a minute of indulgence. The heady rush he got with each breath felt like a morphine drip at first, turning him boneless and warming him from the inside out. When the heat sunk lower in his body, however, he caught himself and began to take short, shallow breaths through his mouth. Face and chest warm but head becoming less hazy, Will ripped the package the rest of the way open, letting the scent dilute in the air. It was still distinct-- and embarrassingly comforting-- but Will didn’t feel as though he was in danger of turning into a molten puddle. </p>
<p>Intellectually, Will knew that pairs who spent long periods of time scenting one another experienced spiked oxytocin levels; this was equally true for couples and clinically matched alpha/omega pairs-- Will had read the studies himself in grad school. It all boiled down to a simple principle: Genetic compatibility plus proximity equals hormones. Will reminded himself of those studies as his grip on the torn plastic bag tightened. </p>
<p>Obviously, sealing the bags had been a decent idea; Will would just have to remember to open them outside in the future.</p>
<p>He stuffed the remaining packages and stocking in the block box, put the lid on it, and took it upstairs to stow away in the spare bedroom. He ignored the ring of gold around his iris when he glanced at his reflection in the bureau mirror. Back downstairs, he held the scent marked t-shirt at arm’s length and wandered aimlessly from room to room, deciding what to do with it while simultaneously trying not to think too hard about it. When Will realized he was just spreading the scent throughout his home by pacing the house, he hastily went to the coat rack and hung it next to his winter coat. </p>
<p>Finally, the package hidden from sight and the t-shirt out of his grasp, Will retreated to his bed. He curled onto his side, closed his eyes, and let the sound of his dogs’ snuffling soothe him into a nap. </p>
<p>When he resurfaced just before noon, Will felt clearer-headed and steadier on his feet. He once again let the dogs out, but as he watched them from the porch, he dialed a familiar number. </p>
<p>The phone rang four times. Then, there was a voice.</p>
<p>“Hey, Beverly. Could I ask for a favor?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love hearing your thoughts and hope to get caught up today. I really struggled with this chapter, and I think it all amounts to overthinking and still feeling a little out of my element with A/B/O. I appreciate so much your kind words!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>22 Dec: <b>Snow</b> / Ice Play / Creature Fic</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beverly caught Will’s eye from across the coffee shop and waved. As Will approached, her tight-lipped expression contorted briefly into a questioning frown before landing on a smirk. Will avoided eye contact as he slid into the chair opposite her and scanned the room. Across the table, Beverly crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head as her mouth twisted further in amusement. When Beverly’s voice compelled him to finally meet her eyes, he was unsurprised to hear every word dripping in suggestion.</p>
<p>“Christmas come early?”</p>
<p>Will scowled.</p>
<p>“I’m glad this is fun for you.”</p>
<p>Beverly scoffed and picked up her mug, pushing the other one already on the table toward Will</p>
<p>“You spent the night with someone,” she accused just above the rim of the mug. </p>
<p>“I didn’t,” Will immediately snapped. </p>
<p>Beverly raised her eyebrows, not disbelieving but asking.</p>
<p>Will watched the steam rise from his mug and tried to determine which details Beverly needed and which he could keep safely tucked away in his mind. Calling Beverly to ask her to bring him a pair of her gloves had been an impulse born of his frustration; she had laughed at first, but something in his voice convinced her to agree to meet him without further inquiry. Now, in public and presumably still smelling like he’d spent the morning rolling around with an alpha, he wanted the floor to open and consume him.</p>
<p>“I heard it deterred…,” Will waved his hand. </p>
<p>“Harassment?” Beverly supplied. Will nodded, his face heating. Beverly sighed and her eyes softened. “Is that what the gloves are for?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Will answered in an exhale, the word quiet in the noisy cafe. It wasn’t a complete lie.</p>
<p>Beverly pulled out the gloves she’d tucked into her coat and placed them in front of Will. </p>
<p>“They’re not gonna fit you,” she warned lightly. </p>
<p>“I don’t plan to wear them-- just stick them in my pockets,” Will replied, picking them up. </p>
<p>He held the gloves as close to his face as he could without blatantly looking as though he was attempting to smell them. Traces of cool mint and evergreen wafted from the fabric; the aroma was clean, pleasant, and, ultimately, reminiscent of a high-quality winter candle. There was no liquid heat dripping into his core nor was there the subtle sharpening of his vision that Will had learned only that morning was a signal his irises were becoming tinged with threads of gold. Will dropped the gloves back onto the table and groaned through clenched teeth. </p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” Beverly quipped as she watched Will teeter on the verge of breakdown. </p>
<p>“Sorry-- thanks,” Will murmured, still distracted by his thoughts. “It’s been an odd week.”</p>
<p>Beverly made a face of mock horror. “That means something coming from you.”</p>
<p>Will exhaled a wry chuckle. “First, encephalitis. Now, this. I don’t know my own body anymore.”</p>
<p>Will chafed at the sympathetic look Beverly couldn’t stop from crossing her face before catching herself. </p>
<p>“Not everyone gets the chance to be a teenager again,” Beverly joked, brightening more at the scowl that fixed itself on Will’s face.</p>
<p>He looked utterly sullen as he replied, “I hated being a teenager.”</p>
<p>Beverly’s laugh didn’t lift his spirits.</p>
<p>“Should’ve known,” she teased. “When I went off suppressants in college, I was a wreck for two months. Argued with every blowhard alpha on campus, became obsessed with my girlfriend’s scent, wouldn’t let anyone in my dorm room…,” Beverly was shaking her head, and Will could see the slightest hint of a blush in her cheeks. “But I guess those are hormones for you.”</p>
<p>“How did your girlfriend smell after everything...calmed down?” Will asked hesitantly, eager to know the answer but hating the question.</p>
<p>Beverly looked wistful for a moment; if Will hadn’t been on edge, he would have laughed.</p>
<p>“Ugh, perfect,” she began with a tinge of regret, “but genetic compatibility and personal compatibility don’t always agree. I think she lives on a commune in Colorado now.”</p>
<p>Will could feel his body slump in relief. Since that morning, a nagging voice in the back of his mind had begun to convince him that his reaction to Hannibal’s scent was a sign of something more concerning than mere biochemistry. He’d attempted to avoid thinking of the many long, intimate conversations he and the doctor had shared, often over dinner, as well as the easy smiles and dry jokes passed between them. He’d never foreseen a friendship with the psychiatrist; now, the intersection of their lives seemed as though it had always existed and would continue interminably-- barring something terrible happening, such as Will working himself into a panic over imaginary feelings. </p>
<p>Beverly watched with interest as emotions flickered across Will’s face.</p>
<p>“So, why <i>do</i> you smell like <i>this</i>?” she asked bluntly. “It’s familiar…”</p>
<p>The question made Will swallow hard as his skin pinkened. </p>
<p>“A friend gave me some things to wear,” Will answered too quickly. He grabbed a glove from the table and waved it around: “Like you gave me these gloves.”</p>
<p>“Just alike,” Beverly remarked dryly. </p>
<p>Will waited, but she didn’t ask for a name-- maybe because she liked the mystery or maybe because she truly was Will’s friend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An hour later, Will was back in his car heading toward Baltimore as snowflakes began falling from above, flying by the speeding vehicle like thousands of tiny shooting stars. He would go to Hannibal’s office, he would tell his friend that the imbalanced hormones flooding his brain made it impossible for him to accept the gift, and then...well, he’d figure it out. Hannibal was a doctor-- he would understand, might even offer him useful advice. And Will may have stuck to his half-formed plan if Lecter’s office had been open. Of course rich people didn’t want to talk about their problems three days before Christmas. Undeterred if somewhat off-kilter, Will shot off a text message that was more a warning to Hannibal that he would soon be arriving than a request for permission to do so. When Will arrived at the stately home, the cold bite of the air and quickening of the snowfall didn’t allow him time to wallow in his dread. He rang the bell and was let in with a speed that made him wonder if Hannibal had been waiting in the foyer. Probably-- there must be some etiquette rule about leaving self-invited guests outside in the cold for too long. </p>
<p>Will slipped off his dampening coat and wiped his feet on the mat as Hannibal, dressed in slacks and a comfortable looking blue sweater, watched and waited. Will purposefully kept his head craned to breathe away from the doctor; it was a useless endeavor between the fact that he was in the man’s home and he was still cloaked in the alpha’s scent from the morning’s surprise delivery. Coat hung by the door, Will took a few steps further into the house, running his hands tensely through his hair. When Will glanced back, Hannibal was eyeing the coat rack. Only someone who knew the man’s expressions well could see the tightness of his angled jaw, and only someone who knew his scent well could detect the flair of burning wood that suggested unease. As quickly as it came, Hannibal caught himself, and the anomalous note disappeared. When he looked at Will, he was once more entirely self-possessed. </p>
<p>“Lunch?” he asked, already striding past Will and toward the dining room. </p>
<p>As much as Will wanted to stomp his foot and say no, his stomach disagreed, which was just as well since the dining table was already set for two. </p>
<p>“Presumptuous,” Will mumbled under his breath, loudly enough for Hannibal to hear. </p>
<p>“Intuitive,” Hannibal offered as a correction. “Sit. It will only take a moment.”</p>
<p>Will complied, deciding to save the fight for more important matters. The sounds of Hannibal assembling the last of their lunch carried into the dining room, and Will listened as he watched the snow fall in the courtyard. For all of his mounted antelope heads and tawdry paintings, there was an odd comfort to be found in Hannibal’s home-- at least the parts of it devoted to cooking and eating. The warmth, the stillness, the privacy, the purposeful immutability-- it wasn’t so different from Will’s own home in those regards. </p>
<p>“There will be talk of a white Christmas,” Hannibal remarked as he placed a dish in front of Will. </p>
<p>On Will’s plate were two triangles of a sandwich, the bread thick and toasted to a golden brown, placed around a small bowl of a golden soap with swirls of white and specks of spices on top. The concept of a sandwich and soup had been elevated to gourmet standards-- Hannibal Lecter standards-- and it made Will’s mouth water.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Will said, eyes on the food as he politely waited for Hannibal to sit down across from him.</p>
<p>“My pleasure,” Hannibal replied sincerely. </p>
<p>Hannibal allowed Will to take a few bites of the meal-- butternut squash soup and a roast chicken sandwich layered with apple, a sharp cheese, and some kind of jam-- before disturbing the moment of peace.</p>
<p>“I don’t imagine you came solely for my cooking,” Hannibal glibly observed. </p>
<p>Will cleared his throat unnecessarily. He took another bite, then a sip of his water. Hannibal let him stall.</p>
<p>“I do appreciate what you sent me,” Will choked out, eyes on his plate. He forced himself to raise them and meet Hannibal’s steady gaze. “But I can’t accept it.”</p>
<p>When Hannibal straightened in his chair and looked at a spot on the table, Will felt guilt twist his stomach and a frown pull at his features. </p>
<p>“This isn’t a demurral for the sake of courtesy,” Hannibal stated. </p>
<p>Will selected his next words with great care, Hannibal’s manufactured placidity all too easy for Will to detect.</p>
<p>“I opened one of the bags,” Will said, Hannibal’s eyes drawing upward at the words. “You might say I had a strong reaction to it.”</p>
<p>Hannibal’s eyes seemed darker, deeper; Will should’ve worried that his reflex was not to turn in fear.</p>
<p>“I don’t wish to cause you undue stress.” The doctor’s voice was impressively unchanged.</p>
<p>A dry laugh tumbled from Will’s throat as he recalled his morning. “You aren’t. Right now, I can’t always control my response to alpha scents. It’s...not appropriate for our friendship.”</p>
<p>Hannibal placed his silverware delicately on his plate, careful not to scratch the dish. He tented his fingers in a way Will had often seen during their sessions, though the shadows in his eyes remained. </p>
<p>“Unconventional people rarely have the luxury of conventional relationships. Did our relationship so neatly conform to the accepted bounds of friendship before?”</p>
<p>Will inhaled a deep breath and removed his glasses, taking the opportunity to look away as he tucked them in his pocket.</p>
<p>“This isn’t a problem of philosophy,” Will responded brusquely. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly, embarrassed, guilty, and losing direction of the conversation. </p>
<p>“Is this a problem, Will?” Hannibal’s smooth voice didn’t rise or falter. </p>
<p>For many moments, the two men stared across the table at one another. Will was the first to move, taking the napkin from his lap and placing it on the table. His motion was slow and controlled as he stood and rounded the table, never letting his eyes leave Hannibal’s. The doctor observed his movements with near complete stillness, only shifting when Will pulled out the chair next to Hannibal’s, turned it to face the older man, and sat down. Adrenaline pumping and scents stronger in such close proximity, Will could tell by the sharpening of his vision that his eyes would illustrate exactly how the wash of pheromones impacted him without the need to fumble for words. He opened his mouth to say something to break the silence-- <i>It’s a problem for me</i> or <i>Look! I can’t go to work like this</i> or even <i>I’ll burn the damn stocking tonight.</i> </p>
<p>Yet, with only a few feet between them, Will saw a glint of ruby bleeding into the brown of Hannibal’s irises. Will spoke to fill the space, brain occupied with processing the wave of new data it was being presented with now.</p>
<p>Will’s voice sounded far away as he explained, “After I opened your gift, I met with Beverly. I asked her to give me a pair of gloves-- I needed to know…but nothing happened...”</p>
<p>A sharp edge of a canine was unsheathed as Hannibal’s mouth opened.. </p>
<p>“I smelled her on your coat,” Hannibal commented unapologetically. </p>
<p>The sight of Hannibal frozen in the foyer, frowning and letting a hint of his upset tinge his scent, struck Will, and he replied, “It bothered you.”</p>
<p>“More than I would prefer,” the older man answered with a ghost of a smile. “But it’s a fool’s errand to chase penance for that which is beyond one’s control.”</p>
<p>He looked-- and smelled-- distinctly unbothered now, all warmed wood and spice. Will’s muscles relaxed, and he rested his elbows on his knees, unconsciously following the scent. The snow falling outside the glass doors of the dining room had cast the space in a bluish light, but the man sitting across from Will remained golden and bright-eyed. </p>
<p>“Embracing jealousy doesn’t sound like a healthy coping strategy, Doctor.”</p>
<p>Unperturbed, Hannibal countered, “The nuances of instinct cannot be captured in so simple a term. You believe you would be unaffected had I greeted you bearing the scent of a beta or omega?”</p>
<p>A rumbling sound came unbidden from the back of Will’s throat at the idea of the scent he had wrapped himself in distorted by an outsider. Will’s eyes widened in surprise at himself. Hannibal’s smug grin immediately caused Will to backpedal.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to--”</p>
<p>“No need to explain,” Hannibal interjected. “A natural reaction, though not one I’d attribute to jealousy.”</p>
<p>Will huffed and laced his fingers together in the space between his knees. </p>
<p>“Why is this happening? We’re, what? A good genetic match?”</p>
<p>Hannibal’s faint grin and reddening eyes didn’t suggest any irritation at Will’s snarky tone. </p>
<p>“I’d imagine we’ve both encountered biochemically appropriate partners in the past, although you may have experienced a muted response.” </p>
<p>Will let the implications of the other man’s words sink in through the haze of comfort settling over him in their shared space. He wondered if every real pull of attraction he’d felt would’ve been like <i>this</i> had he chosen to forgo suppressants. He doubted it, and his expression betrayed that thought. </p>
<p>At Will’s look of uncertainty, Hannibal added, “The feelings that existed prior to this turn of events color our perceptions now. We are no more slaves to biology than psychology.”</p>
<p>Will studied Hannibal with raised eyebrows, the word <i>prior</i> anchoring him to the moment. He hadn’t thought so little of Hannibal to assume he was the sort to put omegas on a pedestal simply because of their sex, but hearing it aloud soothed an anxiety Will hadn’t recognized he’d been harboring. Were their relationship to escalate, the entirety of the situation could amount to nothing but hurt and loss, but with that molten, boneless sensation returning and his eyes actually tingling now with the shifting hues, Will could only sink down on his elbows. It was a comfort that this may have been their trajectory with or without the magnetic draw of pheromones.</p>
<p>Hannibal half-stood and pulled the placemat across the table, putting Will’s food back in front of him in his new seat. </p>
<p>“Eat,” he gently prompted. “We can speak further in the study after.”</p>
<p>Will nodded and began going through the motions of eating again, too lost in his thoughts to enjoy the meal as fully as it deserved. When they finished, Hannibal silently took their plates into the kitchen while Will went to the study to start a fire. The house was becoming colder as the feeble winter sunlight hid behind the clouds and the snow mounded higher, but the fire heated the room efficiently enough for the distracted pair who seated themselves in the armchairs in front of it. Hannibal’s long legs caged Will’s, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of menace in the pose; if anything, he seemed to be hovering around Will, tentative yet guarding. Will had seen the reflection of something predatory in Hannibal’s eyes from their first meeting in Jack’s office months ago, well-concealed by bespoke suits and poetic language; since that day, Will had begun to recognize the monster in the shadows as perhaps not a reflection of his own but certainly kin to it. The thought flitted across Will’s mind that their current predicament must be rattling the bars of the creature’s cage. Maybe that was why, in spite of their stated purpose of retreating to the study to sort out the complexities of their situation, both were quiet, bodies as close to touching as possible without making contact. </p>
<p>So close to the source of the scent that had driven Will mad for the last day, all semblance of maintaining a friendly distance was doomed from the beginning. Will found himself craning closer until he was nearly cheek-to-cheek with the other man, their legs grazing against one another as Will leaned forward. Will’s nose was almost touching the side of Hannibal’s neck when he gained a modicum of awareness.</p>
<p>“Is this alright?” Will asked, pulling back just a few inches to get a glimpse of the stony man’s profile. </p>
<p>The puff of air that escaped Hannibal’s mouth and the firm hand that wrapped around to land between Will’s shoulder blades were enough of a response, but Hannibal still whispered his answer in a thick voice. The head covered in soft, dark curls dipped forward again until skin touched skin, Will’s senses drinking in the pheromonal cocktail emitting from the neck he nestled against. As he breathed deeply, the hand between his shoulders stroked upward to reach the nape of his neck, and the fingers that came to rest on either side rubbed gently at the glands buried there. The sheer chemical euphoria of the moment prevented Will from feeling the slightest shame when a sigh that was perilously close to a moan passed his lips. The deep breaths and quickening pulse of the older man suggested that he was far from unruffled as he finally caressed Will’s neck with the tip of his nose. They inhaled one another into their lungs and left their invisible marks on each other’s skin.</p>
<p>They could have stayed nuzzled against one another, stuck together by unseeable bonds, for hours, had their two cell phones not blared within seconds of one another. The men jerked back and fumbled with their devices only to find a winter weather advisory for the increasing snowfall and risk of black ice. Will felt his skin flush as he began to come back to himself after the jarring interruption. </p>
<p>“My dogs,” Will said, looking blindly at his phone. </p>
<p>“You must tend to them,” Hannibal repeated, the words more rote than conscious. </p>
<p>They remained sitting for a moment, breathing heavily. Hannibal was the first to move, releasing Will from the barrier of his legs. They walked in a daze to the front door, but opening it to receive a lash of freezing air and behold a sea of white gave them both a needed jolt. It still didn’t help either of them find the words necessary to end the afternoon. Even when Will stood outside the door and was blasted by the cold, clean air, he struggled to speak; it was a small comfort that Hannibal, too, seemed uncharacteristically out of his element and disquieted. </p>
<p>“Christmas party?” Will asked, the best he could do as far as making a promise that he would return if Hannibal wanted him to.</p>
<p>Hannibal’s eyes flashed up to meet Will’s briefly, and in the daylight, the red battled to overtake the brown. </p>
<p>“Yes, I look forward to seeing you there,” Hannibal answered courteously in spite of how far from polite he looked in that instant. </p>
<p>Will nodded and retreated, thankful for the snow and cursing it all the same.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Mistletoe/Kissing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're going to pretend that this was finished in a vaguely timely way, and in exchange, I'll add a Team Sassy Science epilogue for the day I wasn't gonna write on. Deal? 🎄😉 Let me know what you think!</p><p> </p><p>Challenge for 23 Dec: <b>Mistletoe</b> / <b>Kissing</b> / True Mates</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By Christmas Eve, Will had picked up his phone and dialed Hannibal’s phone number no less than half a dozen times, a feeble excuse for missing the doctor’s Christmas party on his lips. Staring at the lit square of his cell phone screen and imagining hearing the accented voice answer, Will couldn’t make himself complete the call. </p><p>Will didn’t know where they stood exactly, but he knew the ground was shaky and liable to fall out beneath their feet. A Christmas party was certainly not the stage for such a tumble. Yet, unable-- or unwilling-- to back out, Will resigned himself to keeping his word. He could blame his inability to cancel on a simple respect for his friendship with Hannibal or even his own self-destructive curiosity, but neither captured the truth: God help him, Will <i>wanted</i> to see the other man and spend a few moments more basking in the radiance Will’s presence seemed to light in Hannibal’s eyes. As painfully as Will’s senses craved to once more be folded against the other man’s body, the two breathing one another in while huddled by a fire, his mind couldn’t quiet itself long enough to sort out what he truly wanted from the situation they’d stumbled into. </p><p>Because of the mess he found himself in, Will spent most of the 24th starting and stopping projects between bouts of sullen contemplation. Finally, he brushed his hair back into something resembling an intentional style, put on his least ill-fitting suit, and made the drive to Baltimore. Hannibal’s home hummed with the energy of dozens of well-dressed, festive party goers. Will felt increasingly justified in his decision to arrive half an hour after the formal start time to avoid being stuck in awkwardly empty spaces with strangers-- or with Hannibal, for that matter. There was no danger of that now with the crowd of attendees surely buzzing from space to space, sampling the endless variety of hors d'oeuvres and laughing over flutes of champagne. As the din of the party rose-- and with it, the mixture of natural and synthetic scents-- nausea settled into Will’s core, and he steeled himself for the evening ahead as he started down Hannibal’s front walkway. </p><p>Will’s entrance was blocked by a trio who had stopped on the front stoop to take photos together. Waiting on the walkway in the cold, Will watched in icy detachment while two men with ostentatious holiday ties and a woman whose dress had enough sequins to warrant sunglasses struck a series of poses. He waited at the bottom of the steps giving the three his best disapproving professor face and was pleased when they noticed him with embarrassed apologies and retreated into the house. Will took the opportunity to slip in behind them unnoticed, edging around the foyer to map out the party. </p><p>Just beyond the entry, a hired server stood waiting to take coats and greet guests on behalf of the busy host. The superficially courteous man checking coats was eclipsed by the display placed just beyond the entrance: A sizable glass tub held an expertly-carved ice sculpture of a stag, which was encircled by real boughs from a spruce tree that appeared to be frozen into an icy wreath. Will skirted the monstrosity and proceeded to remain on the fringes of the crowd as he surveyed the living room first: Servers with trays floated around the space effortlessly while those cradling bottles of chilled champagne approached any guest in danger of finishing his or her glass. The attendees were spread more or less evenly along the ground floor, but each room had already developed its own character: The living room was for the boisterous-- those who would hum along to the instrumental christmas songs playing throughout the house. They were the ones who wanted to be seen at one of Dr. Lecter’s parties and who wanted to accumulate as much gossip as possible while they were there. The study hosted a more reserved crowd, though equally insufferable in Will’s opinion. He overheard a lively debate on translations of sonnets from Italian to English, and since a root canal seemed like a good time in comparison to sticking around for the rest of that conversation, he turned to leave almost as soon as he entered the room. Will automatically began walking toward the dining room and kitchen, thought better of it, and instead turned to go find a corner to hide in while people-watching in the living room. The sickening stench formed by alphas trying to impress was stronger in the living room, but it was easier to hide there for the same reason. However, Will barely made it into the room this time when a friendly, cheerful voice called his name.</p><p>“Will! I didn’t know you were coming,” Alana greeted him happily.</p><p>The tiniest hint of a blush, either from the champagne or the cold, tinted her cheeks, and the royal blue of her knee-length dress contrasted becomingly with her otherwise fair skin. With her long, dark hair hanging in lustrous waves and the unmarred skin of her long neck exposed by her off-the-shoulder neckline, she presented a stunning image. Though female betas’ natural scents didn’t typically register strongly with omegas-- a nasty trick of biology to dissuade a mating that wouldn’t result in offspring-- Will found he could now detect more of Alana’s scent than he had before being forced off of suppressants. She brought a clean, powdery aroma with a touch of something floral that reminded Will of magnolias in Louisiana summers. It was no shock that she was as lovely and elegant in this aspect as in any other. </p><p>“I’m as surprised as you are,” Will answered after too long of a pause.</p><p>“You look--”</p><p>
  <i>Sane. Stable. Almost normal. </i>
</p><p>“--healthy. It’s good to see,” Alana offered with enough kindness in her eyes that Will bit his tongue. </p><p>Still, Will’s wry smile didn’t meet his eyes. “Never better.”</p><p>“I was worried when I heard you were going back to work so soon. How has it been?”</p><p>“Bodies, murderers, Jack-- it’s like I never left,” Will replied sardonically. </p><p>“Yet your presence was surely missed,” Hannibal chimed in behind Will, appearing from nowhere. </p><p>Will’s eyes searched after the voice and found Hannibal looking squarely at him. Although he was dressed to play the role of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, socialite and renowned host, the older man’s eyes were warmed to mahogany and his scent remained as alluring as before. In a room full of mingling scents, however, it was diluted to a degree that Will felt confident would not result in the two mauling one another mid-canape. </p><p>“Not everyone finds me so charming, Dr. Lecter,” Will dryly remarked. </p><p>A smile lifted the corners of Hannibal’s mouth, the hard angles of his features rounding with humor.</p><p>“A man of many gifts. Jack Crawford has an eye for talent,” Hannibal commented pleasantly, acknowledging Alana as well with the compliment. </p><p>Alana’s eyes darted between the two men, and Will felt a jolt of anxiety that someone else might recognize whatever it was between them. If his anxiety was charged with excitement at that same thought, it couldn’t be helped. However, her shining eyes settled back on Hannibal, apparently deciding that his flattery was typical Hannibal Lecter charisma instead of something more pointed. <br/>“Speaking of your gifts, Alana, Dr. Sands is terribly eager to meet you. I believe she sees the potential for collaboration in your futures,” Hannibal said conspiratorially. </p><p>Will was familiar with Carolyn Sands. She was considered the foremost expert in abnormal child and adolescent psychology with a particular knack for violent offenders under the age of thirteen; he respected her expertise but found some of her work, frankly, reductive. However, judging by the arch of Alana’s brows and the stretching of her red lips into an incredulous smile, Dr. Bloom didn’t share Will’s criticism. </p><p>“Carolyn Sands?” Alana stage whispered. “You’re not putting her up to this, are you Hannibal?”</p><p>Hannibal pretended offense at the suggestion.</p><p>“Do not diminish your professional merits, Alana. Dr. Sands was aware of your work long before this evening.”</p><p>Alana pushed back her shoulders and set her face in a dignified yet amiable expression; then, she scanned the room, subtly looking for the woman but not finding her. </p><p>“I last saw Dr. Sands in the study. She was correcting Judge Haley’s knowledge of California’s vineyards,” Hannibal answered the unasked question. </p><p>Tossing back the last of her champagne, Alana visibly steeled herself. Will had never seen her nervous-- or anything resembling it-- and couldn’t help the small smile that found its way to his face. He suspected Hannibal may have waited for an opportune time to deliver this revelation to Alana, but Will couldn’t begrudge her this excitement. </p><p>“To the study,” Alana stated determinedly. “Well, to the champagne, and then to the study.” </p><p>She flashed them both a smile, and Hannibal tipped his own full flute at her in a small toast for luck. Then, she was gone, and Will and Hannibal were as close to alone as they could be in a crowd. </p><p>“I missed your entrance,” Hannibal impassively observed. </p><p>“Bad luck,” Will returned, bringing his glass to his mouth for a sip.</p><p>“Have you eaten?”</p><p>Will averting his eyes was a sufficient answer, but he muttered, “The servers are slippery.”</p><p>Hannibal watched Will’s movement, studying him it seemed. </p><p>“A sizable crowd,” Hannibal replied knowingly. “The kitchen might suit you better.”</p><p>The offer of an escape was too tempting for Will to pass on, so against all good judgment, he nodded and followed Hannibal’s winding path through the thrumming party to the relative respite of the kitchen. He avoided the eyes he felt watching him as the host led him through the house; he sensed their confusion without needing to confirm it. He was a stranger to these people-- a scruffy one at that. Maybe they thought he was a late-arriving server being escorted to the kitchen by the noble host. Entering the kitchen to find only two expeditors waiting for servers to return with empty trays, Will felt he could breathe again in the space that smelled more of food than of people. Following just behind his relief was hunger. He had a habit of forgetting to eat, and the only meal he’d had was a breakfast of cold cereal. </p><p>Hannibal took a dinner plate from his shelf and selected an assortment of hors d'oeuvres from the large trays. Will would’ve grumbled that he could do the task himself and didn’t need to be catered to, but Hannibal had a way of making his guests feel as though they were doing him a personal favor by letting him attend to them. It was infuriating how good the man was at making Will feel mostly okay accepting help that wasn’t needed but certainly made life a bit easier. When he put the plate at the far end of the counter, away from the prep area, Will took it and strove to maintain as much self-respect as possible while he inhaled the impossibly good food. Standing by him at the end of the counter, Hannibal not-so-discreetly watched him enjoy it. </p><p>Taking a moment to pause his one-man feeding frenzy, Will commented off-handedly, “That is quite an ice sculpture you have.” </p><p>“I look forward to your critique,” Hannibal responded, unflappable and still entirely too satisfied with himself for cutting Will from the flock, herding him to the kitchen, and feeding him once again.</p><p>“How will you top it next year? A champagne fountain? <i>Two ice sculptures</i>?” Will’s tone didn’t reach the level of snark he aimed for, landing closer to gentle ribbing. He blamed the kitchen-- it held too many fond associations now. </p><p>Hannibal grinned, a rare expression, and the space seemed that much more welcoming. If he could’ve done so without being noticed, Will would’ve rolled his eyes at himself and his traitorous body, which now seemed to be in cahoots with the mutinous faction of Will’s mind that tried to convince him he was possibly on the cusp of getting something he had never allowed himself to want. </p><p>“Careful, Will-- you’re dangerously close to volunteering your assistance.”</p><p>Will raised his brows challengingly, knowing it was an empty threat. Hannibal would never allow someone else to dictate any aesthetic decision for a party thrown under his name.  </p><p>“My holiday decorating abilities are limited to cutting down trees,” Will replied lightly, then popped a small crostini into his mouth. </p><p>The combination of rare beef, caramelized onions, and a dollop of some sort of tomato, balsamic, and blue cheese jam was savory and rich, but he masked his pleasure as well as he could.</p><p>“All of my axe work will be yours from here forward,” Hannibal remarked. </p><p>His easy smile and breezy reply did not match the severe figure he cut in his black suit, hair swept back from his face and each detail-- from his green plaid pocket square to his gold cufflinks-- chosen specifically for the occasion. A pang of guilt nipped at Will’s stomach: He was sitting in Hannibal’s kitchen, essentially trapping the immaculate host, eating gourmet hors d'oeuvres from a dinner plate while insulting the decor. </p><p>“The garlands are a nice touch,” Will offered as weak praise, gesturing to the greenery surrounding each doorway. </p><p>Hannibal cocked his head and considered Will’s words-- probably looking for the backhanded half of the compliment. When nothing further was said, he let his dark eyes wander the walls as if seeing them anew. </p><p>“I prefer traditional holiday designs.”</p><p>Will’s eyes tracked the same pathway as Hannibal’s but paused when he noticed the sprig hung above the entryway, nestled into the garland as if it had magically sprouted from it. </p><p>“Mistletoe?” Will’s mocking tone prompted Hannibal to lean against the counter, that much closer. </p><p>“A plant rich in history,” Hannibal intoned. “Do you know the Norse myth associated with mistletoe, Will?” </p><p>“I’m guessing it involves pillaging and vengeful gods.”</p><p>Hannibal ignored Will’s comment as the younger man continued eating, a smirk hiding in the faint lines of his face as he chewed.</p><p>“Frigg, the most revered of the goddesses, asked all living things to swear to do her son no harm. In spite of her care, she overlooked one plant. Her son was shot with an arrow made of mistletoe, and as his mother cried over his body, her tears became the berries we see today.”</p><p>Will looked back at the mistletoe again, considering the white berries hanging like frozen droplets of water. </p><p>“Frigg declared the mistletoe should be associated with peace from that day forward,” Hannibal concluded solemnly.</p><p>The dark head turned sharply back at the words. </p><p>“How did we get from homicide to kissing?” Will asked doubtfully. </p><p>“The plant’s ties to fertility rituals dates back to ancient Greece,” the older man explained in the tone of a museum curator. “As for kissing, the origin isn’t entirely known. One theory posits an inspired young alpha created the tradition to gain the attention of his omegan paramour. Nearly two centuries later, here we are.”</p><p>Will scoffed. “I prefer the version with murder.”</p><p>A woman with blonde curls pinned elegantly to one side and a silky red cocktail dress paused in the doorway at Will’s words.</p><p>“Well, this is quite the conversation!” she chirped too brightly, looking at Hannibal with thinly-veiled concern. </p><p>Will knew that look-- it was the look one adopted before fleeing his presence to whisper about the odd man who made macabre jokes at parties. She took a few hesitant steps into the kitchen, pointedly keeping her gaze on Hannibal. </p><p>“Dr. Lecter, you’ve been hiding from us far too long. Your guests are waiting for a toast.”</p><p>The tight smile the woman maintained suggested she very much believed Hannibal required rescuing. Her obvious discomfort and disapproval would have led Will to dislike her regardless, but the fact that the closer she came the more clearly he could smell the interloper made him clench his teeth and stand straighter. The scent of other omegas usually did not bother Will; they projected varying degrees of sweetness-- sugary to cloying-- and were, to Will’s nose, far more subtle than alphas, though their emotional shifts were just as clear. This woman, however, made the hair on the back of Will’s neck stand up. He read her hostility toward him in what could have passed as the tang of an overripe melon; equally troubling was how the aroma mixed with Hannibal’s own as she approached them. </p><p>Will had seen fights break out at college parties and, later, at bars between two alphas or, more rarely, two omegas over a potential mate; he’d shaken his head with everyone else observing and chalked it up to a pissing contest gone too far. Now, while Will had no intention of making a scene, he understood how otherwise reasonable people could find themselves in such ridiculous situations. The part of Will that had been subconsciously cataloging each note of the doctor’s scent was <i>offended</i> by the intrusion and labeled her as an enemy. Something in her very presence felt obscene, and the fanged creature caged within the forts of his mind wanted nothing more than to see the woman’s blood spray from her neck. </p><p>Will had no way of telling what exactly gave him away, but a firm hand came to rest on his shoulder. He stuck a fig stuffed with goat cheese and thin almond slivers into his mouth, hoping to drown out the maddening smell. </p><p>“The enjoyment is in the anticipation, Elizabeth,” Hannibal answered, mischievous eyes lingering on Will’s a second more than they should have. “I won’t leave my guests simmering for much longer.”</p><p>Elizabeth paused, realizing between Hannibal’s hand on Will’s shoulder and his words that she was being dismissed. </p><p>“Of course, Hannibal,” she responded agreeably. “We’ll be waiting.”</p><p>She slunk back out, heels clicking faster exiting than when she had entered. Hannibal’s hand didn’t fall away, and each beat of his pulse warmed his scent. </p><p>Hannibal spoke in a low voice, closer to Will now. “Your instincts are impeccable.” </p><p>“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Will argued weakly, recognizing the futility in denying something his own scent had no doubt broadcast to the alpha next to him. </p><p>“What did you imagine doing?” the rich voice asked, fingers moving toward the sensitive point on Will’s neck where his scent gland was covered by layers of fabric. </p><p>Will leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering at the pressure and flood of calm it caused. The image of his hands covered in Elizabeth’s blood floated in his mind even as he relaxed.</p><p>“What did you imagine when you smelled Beverly?” Will fixed his eyes on the other man’s and moved to whisper almost directly in Hannibal’s ear as he added, “Rip out her throat?”</p><p>If Hannibal had beheld him with dark-eyed desire before, his face conveyed open adoration at Will’s dark words. Will, wrapped again in the alpha’s scent and still flush with adrenaline and endorphins, closed the few inches between them. A single, testing press of lips deepened into something harder and needier, Will’s tongue dipping swiftly into the waiting mouth. The feel of soft flesh on flesh and the rush of heat from smelling and tasting the body that sung to him in a magnetic hum made Will’s chest tighten, and the rumbling he felt more than heard stole the air from his lungs. When the two pulled back only enough to meet one another’s eyes-- Will’s ring of gold reflected in Hannibal’s pools of red-- their pulses quickened and bodies ached for more contact. Will was only mildly surprised to see that his hands had come to grip the lapels of Hannibal’s black jacket, holding him in place. </p><p>It seemed that at some point during their embrace, a server had entered the kitchen because a male voice was now asking the two managers-- who were still very much present-- to refill his empty tray. The two men dropped their hands from one another guiltily but did not step away.</p><p>“The party,” Will said numbly and ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. “I could go--”</p><p>“Stay,” Hannibal whispered in an exhale.</p><p>The sounds of the party carried through the house, but Will could only hear the blood in his ears and Hannibal’s breathing. Through the haze of adrenaline and pheromones, he dimly recognized the importance of his response. The heat of Hannibal’s stare and the weight of the air around them promised Will that he wouldn’t only be agreeing to stay for a Christmas party; by the same token, were he to flee, he would be leaving more than a holiday celebration in his wake. Nothing could be so simple between them; maybe that was fine.</p><p>Will looked into Hannibal’s burning eyes and nodded. </p><p>“I will.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cannibalism</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One year later, Beverly, Jimmy, and Brian attend Hannibal's Christmas party.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Challenge for 24 Dec: Festive Feast / Oral Knotting /<b> Cannibalism</b></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Christmas Eve, One year later</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A small sea of guests clapped and cooed as Hannibal finished his toast. Their eyes were glued to the golden man, his silver-blonde hair shimmering and the threads of his flaxen silk tie reflecting the light. The full warmth of the doctor’s gaze, however, was reserved for the man in the navy suit watching from the side of the room. </p>
<p>“Six months,” Jimmy Price said through his polite smile, speaking only loudly enough for Beverly and Brian to hear. </p>
<p>“A year,” Brian Zeller countered with a scoff, “at least.”</p>
<p>“Beverly?” Jimmy asked, looking toward the woman who appeared to be analyzing the evidence at hand. </p>
<p>“Three months, tops,” she firmly stated. </p>
<p>“Oh, come on!” Brian goaded, catching himself when his volume went too high. </p>
<p>Beverly shrugged. “My room was next to Graham’s during the Bolton case. Thin walls.”</p>
<p>After a beat that allowed the two men to fully imagine what Beverly might have heard in her hotel room, they reacted simultaneously: <br/>Zeller waved a hand in front of his face and hissed, “Too much information,” while Price nodded and said approvingly, “Good for Will.”</p>
<p>A smirk on her face, Beverly repeated, “Three months.”</p>
<p>The trio watched as the doctor found his way to his newly-bonded mate, Will greeting him with his mouth held in a tight, unimpressed line but eyes glassy with fondness. The three milled about near the corner of the dining room as the other attendees spread out across the rest of the ground floor and Christmas music resumed in the living room; they had no illusion that they were invited for anything other than to increase Will’s comfort during his first year <i>technically</i> co-hosting Hannibal’s intimidatingly well-known holiday party. As the pair walked by, Will made eye contact with Beverly and frowned in exasperation. She gave him a small, unsympathetic wave as he was led away to make an appearance among the guests before returning to the less social FBI crew. </p>
<p>Price brightened at a thought as they watched Will disappear around the corner. “Hey, if Auntie Bev is right, we could have a Christmas baby next year.”</p>
<p>“Ugh,” Beverly groaned. “So cute It’s disgusting.”</p>
<p>Zeller narrowed his eyes at them. “Are we just going to ignore how terrifying their children will be? I’ve seen <i>The Omen</i>.”</p>
<p>“Come on, Bri, all babies are sweet in a squishy, smelly way,” Jimmy said with a dismissive wave of his hand toward Zeller.</p>
<p>“Then they grow up and become--” Brian dropped his voice to a low whisper “--serial killers.”</p>
<p>“Eh, we’ll be retired by then,” Jimmy quipped.</p>
<p>Beverly sighed. “Brian, Will creeps you out and you’re jealous of Jimmy’s crush on Dr. Lecter. Don’t ruin this for me.”</p>
<p>“The man can wear a suit,” Price agreed. </p>
<p>Brian glared and hissed, “Fine. When little Damien is cooking his nanny in an Easy-Bake Oven, just remember which of us called it.”</p>
<p>Beverly and Jimmy glanced at each other in shared amusement, but Price patted Zeller on the back comfortingly.</p>
<p>“I think you’re hangry. Let’s find more of those little pork dumplings,” Jimmy offered. </p>
<p>“And the pineapple sausage skewers,” Beverly added as her stomach growled in hunger. </p>
<p>Brian allowed himself to be led toward the living room in search of food, leaving his thoughts behind him as he fell into the lighter conversation between Jimmy and Beverly about the number of antlers used in the home’s decor and how many reindeer had to die to provide them. By the time the evening was over, his stomach full of exquisite-- if a bit meaty-- food and a jaunt in his step from Dr. Lecter complimenting his cufflinks, all feelings of danger had floated away. When Brian looked over his shoulder as he, Jimmy, and Beverly made their way down the front walkway toward their cars, he caught a glimpse of their two hosts in the doorway, illuminated from behind by the lights of the house, beholding one another with such unguarded admiration that he felt embarrassed by his earlier words. They were practically living in a Crate and Barrel advertisement and here he was crafting conspiracy theories about their hypothetical children’s criminal proclivities. He really needed to start dating again.</p>
<p>Feeling merry, Brian turned back to the two ahead of him and found himself already looking forward to the next year’s celebration.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading this experiment into A/B/O! I don't know that I have a knack for it, but it was certainly fun. I appreciate your comments and hearing your thoughts!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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